


American Fluff Story: Murder House

by JoxersPrincess



Category: American Horror Story
Genre: Baby, Dad - Freeform, Fluff, Gen, Teenage Parent, Teenage daddy, daddy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:02:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2431472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoxersPrincess/pseuds/JoxersPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short, fluffy stories revolving around American Horror Story: Murder House.</p>
            </blockquote>





	American Fluff Story: Murder House

**Author's Note:**

> This will be mostly about Tate, but expect a few other characters in later chapters

Tate Langdon leaned against his arms, which were firmly planted on a red doctor’s bed, fists digging into the soft, almost untouched vinyl. His icy eyes looked down at his daughter. The doctor gave Brook some medicine, in the form of a dripper in her mouth. Tate stroked his daughter’s cheeks. “How does that taste?” he cooed.

Brook’s answer came in the form of a fussy cry. The doctor smiled at Tate. “Most babies puke this stuff back up. You have a wonderful little girl here, Daddy.”

She took the dripped and dropped it into the trash. Tate pressed Brook’s pacifier into her mouth once more. The doctor readied the needle. “You have no idea what’s coming, do you?” cooed daddy, grabbing daughter’s little hand.

Constance grabbed her other hand. “See? Daddy and grandma got you,” she cooed to her granddaughter. Yes, she was born to two unwed, teenage parents but Constance loved her more than anything else in the entire world. G-d knew Addy and Beau would not be making babies, unwed teenagers or not. She looked over at her son and wiped a tear from her eye. Tate sat there. Tears spilling over his cheeks. “Why are you crying, Tate?”

“She’s so scared,” he whimpered. “And I put her into this scary situation.”

The doctor pressed the needle into the soft flesh of Brook’s thigh, slowly twisting her face into a pink mask of pain and fear. She opened her mouth, the pacifier dropping lazily out as a scream filled the room. The next thigh was injected and her screams became brittle, made of glass. Constance could sense the stress leaking out of her son, like a dying balloon. She rubbed his back with her other hand. The doctor got out the band aids. “All done!” chirped Constance.

“You can pick her up now, dad,” smiled the doctor, rolling away from the screaming infant. Tate picked her up and held her against his shoulder, patting her back as she sobbed.

“See? All better!” cooed Tate, bouncing his arms up and down.

“And now daddy is making you bouncy!” giggled Constance, stroking her granddaughter’s cheek. “Bouncy wouncy! Bouncy wouncy!”


End file.
